19. Physical Therapy

NINETEEN

Charis hastime to kill before his first physical therapy appointment. He checks their dorm first, but Mouse isn't there. Charis only stays in the vacant room for a few minutes before the silence starts ticking too loud, and he gets up to go and find the others.

They aren't in any of the first places he checks—the conference room from the other day, or their green room that's empty save for Miyong's water bottle still sitting there, unattended. Charis scoops it up in order to give it to him later. Knowing Miyong, he probably thinks he's lost it.

Charis even pokes his head into the practice rooms. When even that search comes up empty and Charis feels a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach, he has to admit to himself that he isn't just aimlessly wandering, the flimsy fiction he'd told himself to cushion the blow. He really is looking for his members, and he feels hopelessly lonely and a little adrift without them.

There's no point retracing his steps—they might have stepped out to get something to eat or visited the conference room after he'd already left—and Charis doesn't really feel like calling anyone. He resigns himself to the afternoon alone and goes for a walk to clear his head.

It doesn't. His head remains just as muddled as it felt before he started out. Still Charis has to believe that the sunshine does him some good. It feels like he's spent days inside Gleam's world of endless night, inside its timeless halls. The sunlight stings his eyes and skin a little when he steps into it. He feels a little like he's doing something wrong, although no one had forbid him from going outside, and it turns out there's a nice garden area between the set of buildings that makes up the Gleam shooting facility.

He wonders what this place serves as when they're not filming this contest show—a general film studio? Some offices? It's too nice and elaborate to have been built just for this one show, although Charis wracks his brain and can't think of any contest show he's seen filmed in a set like this before.

It had snowed while they were inside. The ground is covered in the thinnest layer of it, and snow clings to the geometric eaves of the boxy and imposing modern buildings. The cold makes Charis shiver. He hadn't dressed for the weather.

He stares out at the neatly groomed garden and thinks about what Jinho had said. Witches and fairies, all manner of things he's never given much thought to before. Charis takes his brooch off his jacket and holds it in his hand, turning it over to look at the pin backing, and then over again.

He tries to see if he can make it do anything—turn into a bird, shine with bright colors. He stares at it and concentrates, but of course nothing happens. He feels foolish and pins it back on his chest before rubbing his hands together and blowing into his cupped palms to try to bring some warmth back into them. He stops his feet lightly, then tilts his head back and thinks about First Love.

He thinks about them glittering on that stage.

Does it make it sting less if it was magic all along? Or does that only mean that there's another height that they've yet to reach?

A thought that feels dangerous yet tantalizing hovers just outside of his reach, and Charis dully meditates on it while he lets his eyes unfocus as he freezes in the courtyard outside.

He can only stay out for so long until the winter chill in the air starts to get to him. His nose and fingers already feel frozen through by the time he gets back inside, and the warm air of the heated environment immediately makes his skin start to sting.

"Where'd you go?" Mouse asks by the time Charis comes back to their dorm room, tired. He takes in Charis' red-flushed cheeks and rosy, dripping nose. "Outside?"

"Yeah. I was looking for you guys."

"Oh. Seojun invited me to see the set for the second round, so I brought the rest of the guys. We left a little while after you took off with the little brother from our junior group. Should I have texted you?"

"Nah, I was just feeling a little weird."

Charis grows quiet.

He knows Mouse doesn't like troublesome things, but why is it he's felt like nothing but trouble lately? Even with Mouse's reassurances that he likes what he likes and won't spend time on what he doesn't, Charis feels like he's brought nothing but problems lately—and not just to Mouse, but to the whole group.

They already lost in the first exhibition round. Is it really a good idea to burden Mouse with more of what's bothering him? To expect to be coddled again and again? Charis thinks of it and grows subtly disgusted with himself.

Isn't the best thing to do to keep it to himself, deal with his problems on his own, and keep his head in the game so the rest of them can focus on doing what they do best onstage? He's the third-oldest. He ought to start acting like it.

"What do you think about First Love?" Charis asks.

"Hate them," Mouse says immediately.

Even Charis, who's more than used to Mouse's blunt nature, is a little taken aback. He sits on the edge of Mouse's bed. "Oh? What is it that's got you feeling so strongly about them?"

Mouse crosses his arms. "Just a story Seojun told me once. It's nothing."

Charis listens attentively, his interest piqued. He knows vaguely of Mouse's relationship with Rockstar, but nothing concrete. He's sure Mouse would tell him if Charis asked him, but he never wants to pry. Mouse is entitled to his own past and his own privacy.

He is curious, though, and Mouse doesn't leave him hanging.

"Tell me?" Charis says.

Mouse sighs, blowing out a harsh breath. Just thinking about it is enough to have him easily annoyed, though he's not annoyed at Charis; just the situation.

"It was when they were doing the X Broadcast Christmas stage. You remember that?"

It was just under two years ago now. Charis remembers it.

"Yeah," he nods.

It was surprising that 4QY had been asked to perform at all—they were a nugu group back then. Everyone thought they would surely rise to the top. It was a sign of enormous promise and the trust their company had in them.

"The show was great."

"Yeah, but it almost wasn't. First Love was there, too. They were performing in the finale, and—" Mouse blows out another sharp breath. "Seojun has never been able to prove it. The security footage oh-so-conveniently cut out right around the time the trouble started, but. Long story short, one of the overhead spotlights came loose and crashed onto the stage. It almost broke Tal's foot."

"That sounds serious," Charis says with his brow furrowed. "But he was alright?"

"Fortunately. Seojun happened to notice something was wrong and tackled him to the side at the last minute. Seojun sprained his wrist in the fall and ended up in a cast for the next four weeks."

"I don't remember any of this," Charis muses.

He wracks his brain trying to think back, to remember, but that was only shortly after Fairytale debuted, as well. They were so busy then, they weren't really keeping up with what any of their competition was up to. Still, Charis thinks that he would have heard of a catastrophe that big. Especially if someone was actually injured.

"They covered it up," Mouse says with a wry smile that says, isn't that just like the industry? "No one needed the bad publicity, and it was at a prerecording, anyway."

"And he thinks First Love had something to do with it?"

Mouse shrugs. "He does, and I don't have any reason not to believe him. Anyway, I've never liked them since then."

This would be the perfect time. The perfect time for Charis to tell Mouse what's on his mind. He thinks back to the conversation he had with Jinho.

"Jinho doesn't trust them either," Charis says, neatly leaving the rest out. Sweeping it under the rug for another time. It'll only sound crazy anyway, he figures. "He told me to watch out for them."

Mouse's face darkens. Even if Charis doesn't tell him everything, he's apparently told him enough.

"You shouldn't be alone with them, okay? If they pulled something on the set of X Broadcast, they'll pull something anywhere."

"You really think they'd do something to me?" Charis asks lightly.

What he means is, I'm not very important. If they were going to bother to sabotage anyone, why not Soohyun? Why not Miyong? Or worst of all and most likely—why not Mouse himself?

"Charis," Mouse says with uncharacteristic seriousness. He's not playing around. "I'm serious. Try to stay with one of us, if you can. Or at least stay away from them."

Mouse really isn't joking around. He's serious about Charis' wellbeing. More serious than he's ever been about anything else in his life, probably.

Charis had been joking, a little bit. He quickly drops the self-deprecating smirk from his mouth.

"I'll be careful," he says. "Really."

Charis is so earnest, and Mouse feels a little bad. Like he's being the bad guy, getting so serious. It isn't like him to be controlling, or to try to forbid Charis to do things. Not at all.

"Sorry," he says, pushing a hand through his hair. "I know I'm being weird about it, just?—"

"Mm," Charis says, shaking his head. "It's alright."

They putter around the room for a while, and Charis records a quick spot to make up for missing his portion of the vlog on the first night. He pans the camera over to Mouse, who's stretched out on the bed reading, and Mouse gives a little wave to the camera.

When he's done, Charis hops in the shower to wash off the mucky, almost oily feeling that seems like it's coating him, even if he's only going to have to take another shower after his physical therapy session.

As small as their accommodations are, the bathroom included, the water pressure is at least very good. The hot water supply seems to be endless to take care of all the many hardworking idols currently housed under the same roof, and Charis takes full advantage.

He steps under the spray and tilts his head back, letting the steaming hot water pour down over his face, washing over his sharp nose and closed eyes like a pattering massage.

He feels better by the time he gets out, still toweling off his damp hair with his warm, wet skin wrapped in fresh new clothes.

"You look tense." Mouse shifts on the bed, tossing his book to the side. "Want me to help you chill out?" he asks, and even without making the offer more explicit, Charis somehow knows exactly what he's offering. Maybe it's that they're on the same wavelength after all.

Mouse looks tempting, and Charis has a sudden flash of awareness, like seeing himself from the outside. He can tell how lucky he is—how special Mouse is, how many people want him. How many people—non-idols and idols alike—would kill to be the one standing where Charis is now, looking at Mouse sprawled playfully out on their bed, hair gently cradling his face, gently touching his tongue to the corner of his lip while he makes such an offer. To have Mouse wanting to take care of them in that way—to have him wanting to take care of them at all.

He thinks it, and it's like he feels a little corner of his heart constrict, almost painfully.

Charis does consider it, but that feeling he had that one night after the concert isn't anywhere around. He actually might be willing to have Mouse help him get into the mood, but he has PT soon anyway.

"Maybe next time," Charis says lightly.

Mouse doesn't take it hard. He takes it in stride, yawning deeply and stretching out across the bed. It would look so alluring to anyone else. It would absolutely break any normal person's resolve.

"That's fine," Mouse says with a yawn. "I'm beat, anyway. I couldn't sleep last night. I might take a catnap. Wake me up if you go out?"

"I'm leaving for PT in a minute."

Mouse yawns again, reaching out blindly with his eyes squinted shut to pat at Charis' thigh. "That's fine. Just wake me when you get back, then."

Charis' eyes suddenly light on something he doesn't remember, that wasn't there before.

"What's that?" he asks.

Mouse cracks his eyes open and looks in the direction of Charis' gaze.

Taped over the bare wall is a little garland of origami animals, cranes and balls and elephants chasing each other like a tiny circus, end over end, tip to tail in a colorful little line. There aren't that many of them, but their bright pink, blue, and green countenances light up the otherwise austere white space.

"Present for you," Mouse says, blinking tiredly. There's no artifice to it. "You like pretty things."

And then Mouse turns over and goes to his nap, and Charis feels a bit stunned as he eases the door shut behind him and goes to therapy.

There are few things Charis hates in this life as much as going to PT.

"Come on, Pocky, it can't be that bad," Mouse had said at one time by way of trying to cheer him up.

Soohyun had just frowned with a look of concern on his face that Kiki thought, quite frankly, made him look constipated.

Kiki was the one who had finally stepped in and put a stop to all that nonsense.

"Stop," he had said after gathering all of his hyungs together. "Seriously, stop."

"Stop what?" Mouse had asked.

"Stop with the pep talks, stop cheering Charis on. You're making him feel weird."

Mouse frowned. "He hasn't said anything to me."

"Duh, and he's not going to. You're not helping. You think you're helping, but you're not. Let me ask you a question, have you ever been to PT?"

"No," Mouse says, still wearing that same frown. "I've never hurt myself so bad that I needed to."

Along with his other talents, Mouse was blessed with good, stable health.

"Once," Soohyun says slowly. "After I broke my arm as a trainee."

"And did you feel super A-OK about it? Were you leaping with joy and shouting about it from the halls?"

"No," Soohyun says. "I was frustrated. I didn't want anyone to make a big deal about it." He laughs at himself, a little self-deprecatingly. "In fact, after I got the cast off, I wouldn't even let anyone know when my PT appointments were. I went to them all in secret, and I was so happy the day I could finally go back to general dance classes."

"Yeah," Kiki says.

He tries to ignore the fact that he has dim recollections of that time. He hadn't known Soohyun well in those days. Kiki had mostly tried to keep to himself and out of everyone else's way, but he does remember hearing that one of Company P's star boys had taken a fall. Kiki had been viciously glad.

He didn't say that to Soohyun then, and he's certainly not going to say it to him now.

"PT sucks. It's hard to deal with the fact that your body isn't doing the things you want it to. Who would like that? You know how proud Charis is. He's already mad that you went to the company behind his back. The least you can do is leave him in peace and stop rubbing his face in it."

In one of their rooms back at K Dorm, Kiki had taken the older members of the group to task, haranguing them into abashed contrition.

In another part of the facility, Charis actually suffers.

His leg trembles with blatant weakness as he tries to complete a tenth rep of the quad-targeting leg raises that the therapist has him doing. He always thinks that he ought to be better at this than he is; he trains so hard. He trains as hard as the rest of them—harder, even. But a few of these can still knock him off his feet.

As he gets down on himself, overthinking and getting into his head, the physical therapist calls him out.

"Kyong-ssi, you're going too quickly. Remember, control."

"Yes. Sorry," Charis says, correcting himself and doing it again, slower this time.

The only thing it is is infinitely more agonizing. He grits his teeth and grinds out a few more reps before the eagle-eyed physical therapist calls a halt. His form has broken down too much. Any further exercise will be useless.

"Good. That's good, Kyong-ssi. Now let's see your glute bridges. Have you been keeping up with your exercises?" the woman asks as she palpates his legs with a polite and clinical detachment.

She isn't the physical therapist he usually sees. Charis is pretty sure he's never seen her in his life, but he's also pretty sure without even asking that she works for Company P and not for Gleam or its parent company. She obviously has his medical record. She has a short, no-nonsense bobbed brown hairstyle and a quick and efficient manner.

Charis thinks about lying, but in the end he thinks better of it. "Not really," he admits.

"That's okay," she nods. "I know you idols are busy."

Charis starts on his assigned glute bridges while she talks. He'd like to get this over as quickly as possible.

He can't imagine that this is a room solely dedicated to physical therapy, but it's a clean and quiet clinic space. There's a curtain pulled around the cubicle to offer privacy and a clean-sheeted bed where Charis lies down to start his exercises. He hates being on his back in front of people who are standing or sitting up. It always makes him feel too vulnerable.

These go a little easier, but the therapist still has to tap on his lax stomach muscles to remind him to tighten them with the movements. It's the same as before—agonizingly slow and controlled.

"Try to lay each vertebra of your spine down one after the other," she instructs.

Charis breathes carefully through his nose, in and out, and does as she says. He's careful to not let his back collapse.

The room is quiet save for the sound of Charis' deep, rhythmic breathing and the ticking of the clock while he works. His breath grows more labored as he gets further into the feeling of exertion. The physical therapist turns to the side, swiveling her chair to face the desk, and writes a few notes in Charis' chart with a pen. Even if he turns his head, he can't see what she's writing from his vantage point.

She keeps talking while he takes a rest, into his next set of 15.

"I know it seems like you already get plenty of exercise with your schedule, but it's important to make time for these kinds of exercises, too. They target different parts of your body, stabilizing all the small muscles so your bigger muscles can do their job. So you can dance without hurting yourself."

"Un," Charis says, because he can't nod with his head in this position. This isn't news to him, he's heard it all before. He's heard it since he was young.

He's starting to sweat. A bead of salty sweat tickles him as it runs down his temple and disappears into his hairline.

"Sorry, doctor."

The physical therapist waves a hand. "You don't have to apologize to me. It doesn't hurt me at all if you do or don't do your exercises. We both know that I probably won't even end up treating you again. The only one to benefit or get hurt by your decisions is you."

The words feel heavier than if she'd simply accepted his apology, weightier and more accusatory, though she'd doubtless meant them in a kind yet stern way. Charis has simply never liked doctors, and physical therapists least of all.

"How's your pain levels?" the doctor asks once Charis finishes every exercise asked of him, the ones for strength and the ones for range of motion.

Since he's here, Charis doesn't see any reason to lie. This is already exhausting enough.

"Hurts," he says. My left knee and my hip."

She goes to a small minifridge and pulls two ice packs out of the freezer compartment, wrapping them in clean pillowcases before handing them to Charis. "Here. Better ice it down before you go."

He puts the ice on his dodgy joints, as instructed, sighing with relief as the sting of the ice penetrates and gradually begins to soothe all the places that ache. The doctor writes a few more notes, leaving him in peace while the cold packs do their numbing work.

"What are you writing about me?" Charis asks as he looks up at the ceiling.

"That you're a diligent and cooperative patient who just needs to be a bit better about consistency."

Charis closes his eyes. It's not the worst thing anyone could say about him.

He returns both cold packs when he's done.

"I know I've given you a lot," the doctor says as she sends Charis on his way out the door. "I don't want to overload you, but I do want you to try to get in what you can. Try to do your exercises in the mornings if you know you're going to have a full day ahead of you. It'll help you make sure you get them done before your body gets too tired."

"Yes, doctor," Charis replies. The only polite answer possible.

He leaves her office feeling so tired.